


Wrong Side of Reality

by frankiesin



Series: Say It With Neon [12]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (from Mile Marker 17), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Multi, y'all already know what this bullshit is feel free to murder me irl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 22:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: Dallon meets a ghost, ten years after everyone thought she was gone.(AU in the MM17 universe. Could be a fix-it fic but I like angst too much to call it that)





	Wrong Side of Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Me on twitter earlier this morning: haha the next few MM17 ficlets are gonna be painful  
> Me now: I didn't realise I would be facing the consequences of my actions so soon what do I do

**January 26, 2014; Los Angeles, California.**

 

Dallon isn’t drunk because Dallon doesn’t get drunk. They are holding onto a glass of champagne while hanging out with their band members and their band members’ dates. Spencer’s the only one without an actual date, and Dallon can tell he’s a little annoyed about that. Dallon has no idea what Spencer and Mikey’s relationship is supposed to be called. All they know is that Mikey is still in the closet and still dealing with a bunch of scandals, and Spencer doesn’t need to drag himself into that mess.

 

It sucks, not being able to be in public with someone you care about, but Dallon knows why Mikey isn’t here. They get it. They’ve been in situations like that before. 

 

Brendon’s fiancee, Bethany, is chatting up everyone who comes near them. She’s dragging Brendon along as well, and Dallon wants to cut her hand off just so she’ll let Brendon have a little freedom. Brendon’s a fidgety guy. He needs to be able to move around and do whatever he wants. They’re getting married in March; it’s not like Brendon’s going anywhere. 

 

Josh doesn’t feel complicated. Josh has been Dallon’s boyfriend for less than a year, but they like him and he likes them and neither of them are in a rush to do anything other than be together and talk about music and how the industry is a load of bullshit most of the time. 

 

Dallon likes Josh. 

 

They lean over and kiss Josh’s cheek, and Josh looks up at them. He raises an eyebrow. “Hi?”

 

“Nothing,” Dallon said, because it is nothing. Sometimes they show affection just to show affection. 

 

Josh smiles. His gaze travels away from Dallon’s face, and out into the crowd of people. It’s an after party, at some pop singer’s house up in the hills, and Dallon’s enjoying themself. They still think that Hollywood is overrated and that most people here only care about image and not personality, but the house is nice without being flashy and no one’s done anything ridiculous yet. 

 

Pete shows back up with the model he’s currently dating (Dallon still hasn’t gotten her name even though she’s having Pete’s kid). He jumps at Jon and Jon casually hands his drink to Rochelle before ducking so that Pete doesn’t hit him. Jon knows Pete too well. Rochelle looks startled, because Rochelle always looks startled. Dallon doesn't know if that's because she's still starstruck over Pete, or if that's just how she is as a person. They know they should know. It's just hard to pick up on why Rochelle does what she does. 

 

“Pete, leave Jon alone,” Brendon says. He looks over at Dallon as if the two of them are sharing a joke. Dallon hasn’t felt in on Brendon’s jokes in years. Brendon changed after Cape Town, and Dallon was too caught up in their own issues to see it until it was too late. He’d surrounded himself with the partying type. There is nothing wrong with parties, but in LA there’s an assumption that if you go to parties you’re also getting drunk and trying whatever drugs get brought in. And there is no sincerity there either. It isn’t a friend group. The party scene in LA is a group of peers using each other to advance their own fame and fortune. 

 

Bethany is one of those party types. Dallon doesn’t know if their distrust of her is because she’s engaged to their ex or if it’s because they suspect she wants something out of Brendon. They can’t say anything to Brendon. They know he won’t listen. 

 

“I am being nice, fuck you,” Pete says. 

 

Brendon lets go of Bethany long enough to lean over and smack a kiss onto Pete’s cheek. That’s another thing about Brendon that Dallon no longer understands. Bethany is okay with Brendon flirting and kissing some people, but not everyone. Brendon can’t flirt with any women, really, and Spencer and Dallon are off the table because they’re both Brendon’s exes. 

 

But Pete? Pete and Brendon could probably fuck and Bethany would be okay with it so long as she got to see it. She likes to put Brendon on display. Dallon already knew that Brendon was into BDSM, but Bethany’s made that part of her relationship with him public. Brendon is, in every sense of the term, Bethany’s bitch. 

 

“I’m gonna get some air,” Spencer says out of nowhere. He still looks pissed off, so Dallon offers to go with him. Surprisingly, Spencer agrees, and the two bandmates leave their friends behind. Dallon promises Josh that they’ll be right back, but neither party is worried. Josh knows about Spencer, and how he and Dallon had been hooking up before Josh entered the picture. Spencer had backed off the second Dallon showed any interest in Josh, and Josh and Dallon respected that. 

 

Dallon doesn’t expect Spencer to try anything now, even though they’re outside and mostly alone. 

 

Spencer walks over to an empty spot on the wall and leans against it. “I feel weird.”

 

“I could tell,” Dallon says. They almost ask Spencer if he wants them to get him anything from the bar, but then they remember. Spencer’s not doing that anymore. And Dallon’s trying not to drink out of solidarity and also because they were never much of a drinker in the first place. 

 

Spencer sighs. “I think something’s up with Mikey.”

 

Dallon raises an eyebrow. They have no idea what Spencer’s currently calling his relationship with Mikey. They’re not even sure that there is still a relationship there, since Mikey’s not getting sober and Spencer’s working on it. 

 

“Talk to me,” Dallon says. They’re tired of Spencer acting like he has to do everything on his own. He has friends. He has people who are going to support him and accommodate him while he sorts his life out. He doesn’t have to keep all his shit to himself. 

 

“He’s gotten worse,” Spencer says, which is vague enough to worry Dallon. Mikey’s worst and Spencer’s worst are two very different things. Mikey’s been burning his bridges since 2005, whereas Spencer threw gasoline on everything at once in 2009 and then came back with power tools and a genuine apology a year later. People were quicker to forgive Spencer than Mikey, because everyone knew what a mental breakdown looked like. No one knew what years of mental illness and being in the closet looked like. 

 

“He’s… he’s doing stupid shit,” Spencer says. He looks up at Dallon. “Drugs kind of stupid shit. And he hasn’t been responding to a lot of my texts. I don’t want to call Gee and get him involved in all this, because I don’t know if I can.”

 

Dallon runs their hands through their hair. “Spence. If I found out that Rochelle was doing… fucking cocaine or something, wouldn’t you want me to tell you? Since you’re her family?”

 

A look of realisation crosses Spencer’s face. He and Rochelle are the non-biological equivalent to the Way siblings. Dallon isn't’ as close to Gerard and Mikey as Spencer is, but they were a fan of Gerard’s comics and they tried to keep up with him when they could. They knew that Gerard would want to know, if he didn’t already. 

 

“I’ll be back,” Spencer says. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts. “Hopefully Gee will be the one to pick up, because he’s the only person in that crowd who doesn’t hate me.”

 

“Good luck then,” Dallon says, and pats Spencer on the shoulder. They aren’t sure when or why the ex-members of My Chem decided to hate Spencer, but they’ll ask Spencer about that later. Right now, Spencer needs to go be a good friend and Dallon’s not going to keep him from that. 

 

They stand there for a moment until they feel someone watching them. Dallon slowly turns around, looking for whoever’s spying on them, and makes eye contact with a woman standing next to Nate Ruess from fun. They can’t tell if she’s glaring at them or just closely observing them, but either way, her gaze is unsettling. 

 

She says something to Nate and then starts to make her way over. For a moment, Dallon considers ghosting her and going back inside to find the rest of their bandmates. They don’t. They’re interested. They want to know who this woman is, and why she’s so intent on Dallon. Dallon doesn’t recognise her at all, and they didn’t remember Nate having a girlfriend when Panic and fun. collabed on a song a while ago. 

 

Dallon smiles gently as she gets within earshot. “Hey. Do I know you from anywhere?”

 

“Dallon?” She asks, slowly, measuring her words. “Are you Dallon Weekes?”

 

Dallon nods. They are. Have been for the past thirty-two years. They’re not planning on changing their name, because it’s one of the only interesting things their parents gave them, and they’ve had a couple of trans and non-binary fans come up and say they named themselves Dallon after them. 

 

“You probably don’t recognise me,” she says. She’s right. 

 

“I don’t.”

 

“We used to know each other,” she continues. She looks nervous, and Dallon realises that they must have known each other before Dallon met Rochelle, Spencer, or Jon. Maybe even before they met Brendon. 

 

“When? College?” Dallon asked. They could think of quite a few women who would have something to say to Dallon if they’d known them in college. The Brobecks had never been big, but they were all relatively attractive and nice to the girls who showed up to their shows. Dallon had rejected all the offers they got, for obvious reasons, and while they’d thought at the time that none of the girls were upset, maybe they’d been wrong. Maybe there was some girl out there who was pissed that Dallon had rejected her and she’d missed out on her chance to be some rockstar’s beard. 

 

“After that,” she says. 

 

That narrows it down to a very short, very shitty period of Dallon’s life. They’ve blocked out most of that time, because it was the worst years of their life, but it’s not all gone. They still remember getting forced to go to a conversion group, and meeting Brendon and being lied to about how old Brendon was. They remember Breezy, and how it had felt like their whole soul got ripped out of their chest when her parents accused Dallon of being the reason Breezy disappeared. Of being the reason Breezy was out there, dead on the side of the highway somewhere because that was what happened to queer people in the early 2000s. 

 

Dallon shivers. “Sorry. I don’t. I don’t really remember anyone from then. It was kind of a blur, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

 

“I know,” she says. “I was there.”

 

Dallon freezes. They look her over, looking for some trace of Breezy even though they know it’s impossible. The woman has sharp green eyes, but that’s it. Nothing else is left that could bring Dallon back to Breezy. 

 

She reaches down and pulls something out of her purse. “I’ve been holding onto this for about ten years, hoping that maybe I’d find you guys and get a chance to explain myself. I’m sorry it took so long, but hi. It’s me.”

 

Dallon feels like they’re back on that cursed day in 2003, when Breezy’s mother shoved a piece of paper into Dallon’s chest and blamed them for her daughter’s disappearance and probable death. This was a lot softer, though, and Dallon wasn’t riddled with any guilt from the other parts of their life. They were at a party in Los Angeles, being handed a faded set of photobooth photographs that they’d nearly forgotten about. 

 

It had been the end of April, and the three of them had decided to go see Holes after lunch that day. It was a spur of the moment thing, as was cramming into the photobooth they’d found outside the theatre. The booth had only printed two copies, and Dallon had let Brendon and Breezy have them. They were afraid of their parents seeing them having fun with a guy. 

 

Dallon’s looking at those photos again. Their hair is a lot shorter, stuck in an awkward stage of being grown out. Brendon looks like an actual child, and Dallon isn’t sure how they ever thought he was eighteen when they met. And Breezy… Breezy looks completely different then than she does now. 

 

Dallon looks back up at her. “You look really different.”

 

“Yeah,” she says, and smiles. “That was kind of the point.”

 

Dallon feels like they can’t breathe. “What. Where… where did you go?”

 

“I got on a bus,” Breezy says. She doesn’t ask for the pictures back, and Dallon doesn’t give them back. “I didn’t care where it was taking me, because I knew I was eventually going to make my way to Los Angeles and start acting again. I ended up in Reno, stayed there for about a year as a hairdresser, and then moved to San Francisco. I stayed at a shelter there, used all my money to get surgery and legally change my gender, and then I started modelling. From there, I ended up in LA, realised it was easier to land modelling jobs than acting jobs, and made a living posing for people.”

 

“Do you still go by Breezy?” Dallon asks. They wish they’d tried to look for her. Not in missing persons’ reports or obituaries, but online. Breezy had wanted to leave and go to Los Angeles from the moment Dallon met her. They were an idiot for thinking that she’d given up on that. 

 

“Yeah,” she says. “No one in the entertainment industry knows I’m trans. Not even Nate. I don’t… I don’t want that to be what defines me as a model or as a person. It’s a part of me, but it’s not all that I am.”

 

“I get that,” Dallon says. They’re more open about being trans than Breezy, but they’re non-binary. They don’t have the option of being stealth. Being stealth means being closeted, and Dallon refuses to be closeted for the comfort of others. They’re trans, they’re gay, and if people have an issue with either of those things, then they don’t have to listen to Panic’s music. 

 

Breezy sighs. “This is a lot.”

 

“Yeah,” Dallon says. They haven’t seen her in over ten years. They’d thought she was dead and just another statistic to be used in politics. They swallow thickly, not wanting to cry in public. “Can I hug you?”

 

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she says, and pulls them in before they can say anything else. Dallon doesn’t cry, barely, but it’s more out of shock than anything else. Breezy is alive, and she’s successful, and living her dream. Dallon couldn’t be more proud if they tried. 

 

“I missed you,” Breezy says. 

 

“I thought you were dead,” Dallon says back. They pull away so that they can see her again. They’re still holding onto her, somewhat afraid that if they let go she’ll disappear again for another ten years. “Brendon and I both did. You were gone, and Brendon had run off to Arizona and I had to go get him so that we could go to your funeral…”

 

They trail off. That road trip is too much to think about. That road trip was the end of Dallon’s youth and the end of things being normal between them and Brendon. They hadn’t realised it until later, but those hours alone on the road in the dark had changed everything. Brendon and Dallon had been friends, and then lovers again, but it was different after that. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, quietly. Breezy pulls Dallon back in for a hug. “I’m sorry I left you, both of you. If I could have done things differently I would have. I never wanted to leave you two behind.”

 

“I know,” Dallon says. They can’t hate her. Breezy and Dallon went through so much together. They were both adults tied back from being themselves. They were both stuck under the control of their parents with no way of getting out, and they were both desperate. Breezy had taken a bus to Reno with only a wad of cash and a change of clothes, and Dallon had gotten in a van with three kids to move to Chicago. They’d both made rash decisions that paid off in the end. 

 

“I don’t hate you,” Dallon says, “if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 

“Me too,” Breezy says. She looks back up at Dallon. “I kept up with your band. Not from the beginning, but I saw pictures of Brendon performing online somewhere, and I looked him up and realised the two of you were in a band together. I’m proud of you guys. You’re awesome.”

 

“We made it through what should have been the end of our band,” Dallon says. They let themself smile through all the emotions they’re feeling. “I’d hope you were proud of us.”

 

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Breezy says. “You’re one of my best friends.”

 

Dallon furrows their eyebrows. “Even though we haven’t seen each other in ten years?”

 

“Yes,” Breezy says. “I don’t know if you know this, but Los Angeles isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s a lot of using people, and it’s hard to know who loves you because you’re you and who loves you because of what you do. I know a lot of people, but I don’t know how many friends I have.”

 

“I feel the same way,” Dallon says. They smile again. “Sometimes I miss that apartment in Chicago, not knowing if we were gonna make rent or not, and playing out of our friend’s basement. It was easier then. If people liked us, it was because they liked us. Not because we were famous.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Breezy says, rolling her eyes. She rubs Dallon’s arm. “I missed this.”

 

“Me too,” Dallon says. They haven’t brought up Brendon. They don’t think that this Brendon, current Brendon, would fit in well with Breezy. Brendon changed, and not for the better, and now Dallon doesn’t know what to do with him. They take a deep breath. “We should hang out, now that I know you’re not dead and we live in the same city.”

 

“Wanna find a Mediterranean place somewhere? I’m free on Thursday mornings,” she says. 

 

“I’d love to,” Dallon says. They pull out their phone, and Breezy pulls out hers, and the two exchange numbers. It feels like 2003 all over again, but this time Dallon knows there’s going to be a happy ending. They smile, looking down at their new contact. “I’ve got one request, though.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“If you ever need to run away again, text me before you do,” Dallon says. They look up at her. “I’ve still got a car, and I’m a lot cheaper than a Greyhound.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to list how you want to mcfuckin kill me for this in the comments below!


End file.
